


gold coloured prisms of light

by holtzmanns



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Soulmates AU, lots of feelings, they're soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-01 01:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21315823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzmanns/pseuds/holtzmanns
Summary: His older sisters talk about soulmates with hearts in their eyes, about the boys at school whose arms they keep checking for matching Sharpie marks. Because, they say to him, it runs in families. Not everyone finds their soulmate, not everyone can write and have it show up on their soulmate’s skin.Soulmates au.
Relationships: Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo
Comments: 111
Kudos: 182





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't let me go until I wrote it. Hope you enjoy! Only thing to note is that their age difference is two years, rather than five, but other than that nothing is different. Aside from the soulmates part, that is.  
Writ is the best beta and cheerleader and I love them <3

Brock learns about soulmates when he’s four. 

His mother shows him a scribble on her arm, matching the one that his father has just drawn on his own forearm with a marker. 

Brock doesn’t understand how it works, how drawing on his own arm doesn’t make anything appear on anyone else’s. He doesn’t get the idea of a soulmate - two people that are made for each other. 

Brock supposes his parents must be soulmates, from the way that they often turn towards each other, having conversations without words with just a glance, just a slight touch. 

He wonders what it would be like. 

His older sisters talk about soulmates with hearts in their eyes, about the boys at school whose arms they keep checking for matching Sharpie marks. Because, they say to him, it runs in families. Not everyone finds their soulmate, not everyone can write and have it show up on their soulmate’s skin. 

But some people have some extra help in finding theirs. 

There’s the librarian in his school, Mrs. Chen, who always wears long sleeves whenever Brock goes at lunchtime to read there to be away from the other kids because they’re too loud, noisy. She always grabs the books from the top shelves for him, hands them to him with kind eyes as if she knows a lot of things about the world and wants to share them. But even when he sees the ink peeking out from her sleeve by her wrist, the ever so changing marks, he never has the courage to ask. 

Maybe Brock doesn’t even have one. It’s okay, because he likes being by himself. He can’t imagine having someone else to spend time with forever, like his parents. 

* * *

Brock is five and lying on his bed when scribbles appear on his arms. 

They’re haphazard, no recognizable letters or numbers, or even pictures. They’re drawn with an unsteady hand, ink bleeding along the surface of his skin in a multitude of colours that grow and grow and grow. 

He pulls on a sweater because he doesn’t know what else to do. 

His sister tugs on his sleeve when he comes down for lunch and is about to eat a bite of Mac and cheese. “What are _ those?” _

“What?” Brock is defensive as he scarfs down another bite, because he himself doesn’t know what is happening and how is he going to wash it off and-

“Did you draw those?” His sister doesn’t give him a chance to answer, pulling him up from his seat and rubbing her fingers on his ink stained skin and looking to see if the colour transfers. She lets out a gasp when she sees that it doesn’t. 

_ “Mom! Dad!” _

Brock shrinks from their gaze when they come bounding down the stairs, along with his other sister. He crosses his arms, tucking his hands underneath so that they can’t see but then his mother points at his neck. 

“There, look.” 

Brock runs to the bathroom, and gasps when the scribbles have seemed to grow even more. 

“Must be a toddler, or another kid, from these scribbles.” Brock’s mother’s voice is soft as she comes up behind him with his dad, looking at Brock in the mirror. 

“I don’t want a _ baby_.” Brock is five. He’s not a little kid anymore. 

“She’s not going to stay a baby forever. Nor will she always have free range with a bunch of markers to draw on herself like this.” Brock’s mother flips his hand over, looks at the purple webs drawn on there. “She’s quite the little artist.”

“Why does it have to be a girl?” Brock grumbles. The girls in his school are weird, and one told him that he was too tall. 

“That’s the way things are.” 

Brock doesn’t get it, but he supposes it’ll make sense later. 

The marks start to fade while he’s getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth. They disappear fast, as if someone is scrubbing at them, before his skin is completely ink free as he climbs into bed. 

He wonders if his soulmate’s mother was angry about all of the scribbles. 

* * *

Brock is seven before another drawing appears on his arm. 

It makes him gasp, pull down the sleeve of his sweater. Part of him had started to believe that the scribbles had been a dream, made up by his subconscious after hearing so many stories about his parents and the tales woven by his sisters. 

He had started wearing t shirts again, no longer fearing that a wayward scribble would appear on his skin, not after it had been two years since his arms and neck and chest had lit up in rainbows. He’d supposed that his soulmate’s parents had stopped letting them near any markers. 

Until now, because he’s pulled up his sleeve and now there’s a smiley face on his wrist and a messy star beside it, and it doesn’t hurt, but he feels like he’s electrified, his heart beating faster and faster while his teacher, Mrs. Paul, is trying to teach them about what photosynthesis is. 

He still doesn’t know, and it doesn’t matter, because the drawings have stopped, and now he’s staring at them under his desk and seeing how his soulmate’s drawings have changed. They’re no longer scribbles - now, the small doodles are drawn with an unsteady hand like one would expect from a kid like him, or maybe younger. Brock wonders how old they are now. 

He rifles through his desk, a wave of disappointment washing over him when he realizes that he’d leant his markers to his friend Sean at lunchtime, who still has them in his desk. He pulls out a gel pen that his sister had given him earlier in the year, wonders if it’ll work.

It’s worth a shot.

He draws a smiley face next to the one already on his arm. 

Waits.

Another one appears, right beneath his elbow. 

Then one by his palm.

Then Brock’s teacher calls on him and he stutters because he didn’t hear the question, then his classmates are laughing at him and he’s turning red and sinking in his seat, wishing to disappear. 

But when he looks down, he sees a flower. One by his wrist. 

It makes Brock feel better, somehow. 

* * *

It’s another six months before there’s more than just drawings that show up on Brock’s arms.

He’s doing his homework at the kitchen table with his sisters, ignoring the way that his parents are arguing in the den (the door is closed, but he can still hear them, and he’s sure that his sisters can too). He pulls up his sleeves like he’s become used to doing in the past few months, looking for more art upon his skin.

This time, there’s a star, and four letters. Four haphazardly drawn letters that Brock can make out if he squints.

** _J o s e _ **

They’re messily written, with shaky hands. Brock’s not quite sure if it says ‘Tose’ instead, but ‘Jose’ sounds like a name and he’s sure that there’s someone named Jose in the class above him, so it must be a name. 

The words show up again on his skin, underneath the original letters. Then again, until his wrist is covered and all Brock can see is the name _ Jose Jose Jose. _

Is that his soulmates name? Brock wonders if he’s practicing writing it. 

He interrupts the writing, grabbing the Sharpie from the cup of pens on the table and writes down _ Brock. _

The writing stops.

Then, in shaky letters-

** _B r o c k _ **

\- and a smiley face. 

He wonders what his soulmate thinks of his name.

* * *

Brock’s arms become a mosaic of letters from A to Z, interspersed with the stars and smiley faces and flowers that are ever changing. There’s words sometimes, words like **_cat_** and **_sat_** and **_mat_** and **_hat_****,** but most importantly, **_Jose_** and **_Brock_**_. _

The writing becomes more self assured over time, neater, less shaky. Then, eventually, he sees-

** _Hi_ **

Brock nearly scrambles off of his bed to grab the Sharpie that’s taken up permanent residence on his desk to write a response back. 

_ Hi _

Brock has barely dropped his Sharpie onto his bed when more words start to appear.

** _My nam is Jose_ **

_ I know _

_ My name is Brock _

** _I know_ **

Jose. His soulmate’s name, his actual name, is Jose. 

At least, Brock thinks that Jose is a boy. He’s never met a girl named Jose before.

His mother is wrong, maybe he _ does _have a boy soulmate. 

It makes him feel better than it should.

* * *

Brock becomes great at deciphering Jose’s handwriting. The letters that would look like scribbles to anyone else trying to read them are like a lifeline to him. 

Brock’s lying in bed, having just woken up and he needs to get ready for school, by the way his father has already slammed the door, already left for work, and the way his mom is yelling up the stairs to his sisters to get out of the bathroom. 

He pulls on a sweater, ready to cover up the marks like he does at school, after a classmate of his had pointed at them and asked what they were in second grade. He doesn’t want anyone else to see them, because they’re just his and Jose’s, just theirs. 

** _Playing soccar todai :)_ **

He wonders where Jose lives. Right now, as he looks out the window, it’s December and it’s snowing and he knows he’s going to have to wear his winter boots and his snowpants and his giant jacket if he doesn’t want to freeze. 

_ That sounds fun _

** _Ya I’m relli good_ **

_ I want to play soccer too _

It’s not true, not exactly. He doesn’t really like gym class, or when soccer balls or basketballs come his way, because he’d rather duck instead of having them _ hit _him. He doesn’t want to get hurt, even if it makes his gym teacher yell at him every single time. 

But maybe it would be fun with Jose.

** _Wat are you doing todai?_ **

_ School then dance _

He’d begged and begged and begged his mom to let him take dance classes the way his sisters do, and his mom had relented, letting him take some jazz classes. Except he still wants to take ballet, like his sisters do in their pink leotards and the buns in their hair. 

Brock is nervous about mentioning dance to Jose, because the boys in his class had teased him for it, even though some of the girls from his class are at the studio, too. Would Jose make fun of him, too? 

** _I like dance too_ **

Brock gasps, his heart filling with something akin to hope, lightness. 

_ You take dance classes too?? What kind? I do jazz _

** _I dunno I just dance_ **

Brock lets out a little laugh. He wonders what it would be like to meet Jose in person, if everything he said would delight Brock the way his words always do.

* * *

Brock’s mother sees the words on his arms one night when he’s nine, as he rolls his sleeves up to wash his hands before dinner. 

“Is she finally writing to you now?” 

Brock yelps, pulling down his sleeves because what if she sees Jose’s name and their conversations? He catches his breath once his arms are covered, safe. 

“Yeah.” 

It bothers Brock, the way his mom says ‘she’. The way she can’t possibly fathom that he could have a soulmate who is also a boy. What’s wrong with it?

He doesn’t know, because they don’t mention soulmates at church. Nor does he know why his mom muttered under her breath when they passed two guys on the street holding hands, even though Brock had thought it looked quite nice to do. He had wondered whether Jose would hold his hand like that.

“Can I see?” His mother reaches out for his arm and Brock dodges her grasp, crossing his arms. 

“No.” His voice comes out more panicked than he wants it to, but he doesn’t want her to see and be mad at him for it. 

He’s afraid that she would be.

Brock pulls his sleeves up past his palms as they eat dinner, and it’s good, really, that his mom and dad are arguing again because now it means that his mom won’t want to look at the writing on his arms anymore. Even though the yelling is loud, and his sisters are both texting underneath the table, tuning it out. Brock doesn’t have a phone, so he can’t do that, but he does have-

Jose.

Brock draws a smiley face on his arm. His and Jose’s way of alerting each other when they want to talk.

It’s two, three minutes before Jose draws one back, with its tongue sticking out. 

Brock smiles, despite the way his dad slams his fist on the table, making his fork clatter against his plate. It startles him, just for a second, because Jose starts to write. 

** _I’m eating pizza 4 dinner_ **

** _Wat about you_ **

_ Casserole _

** _Ew what’s that it sounds gross_ **

Brock has to stifle a laugh as he writes back.

_ It IS gross _

** _Yuck_ **

** _How are you doing????_ **

_ I’m ok _

Brock doesn’t want to talk about how his dad has stormed off to his study, how his mom is eating in silence, how his sisters are too. How this has become the norm, more often than not.

Brock had previously thought that soulmates never fight. Now, he guesses that it’s not true. 

He wonders what would happen if his father drew on his arm again, if anything would actually show up on his mother’s skin the way that it used to. 

* * *

**_Brock _**

** _Brock _ **

** _Brock_ **

Brock’s eye catches on his wrist when he sees the words appear, tossing the pencil he was using to do homework to the side in favour of his Sharpie. 

He’s twelve and middle school is a place that he does not want to be, because the other kids in his class are mean, teasing him about stupid things and he wishes that he didn’t have to go. 

He wishes that Jose went to his school, because at least he would have a friend there.

_ Yeah? _

** _My abuela _ **

** _She’s in the hospital_ **

** _We’re in a waiting room _ **

** _My mom is crying _ **

Brock can feel his stomach turn. Jose talks about his abuela all the time, about how she always whispers in Jose’s ear that he’s her favourite grandson, that he’s going to be a star when he grows up. About how her hugs feel the softest.

_ Oh no _

_ I’m sorry Jose _

He wishes he could teleport to wherever Jose is now, hug him in real life, because he feels useless right now, so far away and unable to do anything or make anything better. 

** _I dunno what to do_ **

_ How can I help _

** _Can you tell me a story_ **

_ Ok _

And so Brock does. He weaves a story about two friends who live far away but are penpals, talking all the time and it’s soft and familiar, covers him like a warm blanket. Jose draws smiley faces and hearts around the words that Brock writes, and it feels like he’s holding his hand.

Brock does the same thing a week later during Jose’s abuela’s funeral.

* * *

Brock is fifteen and has gotten into the National Ballet School, something he knows will surprise his mother and his father and his sisters when he tells them, but most of all, it surprises himself. It makes him giddy, makes him feel like maybe he’s good at something. 

He writes to Jose in the bathroom after the audition, after his name has been called and he’s gotten a place at the school for the upcoming fall, because he wants to tell Jose first. He shuts himself in a stall, drawing a smiley face and then a star until Jose draws them back to him.

** _Hi hi hi _ **

_ I DID IT _

** _AHHH_ **

** _YOU GOT IN_ **

** _I TOLD YOU _ **

_ YOU DID _

** _YOU WERE SCARED _ **

** _But you’re the BEST at dancing_ **

_ You’ve never even seen me dance _

** _Don’t need to _ **

Brock smiles to himself, tracing over Jose’s words with his finger. He pauses, realizing something.

_ I’m going to have to wear short sleeves when I start ballet school _

_ Because of the uniform for dance _

** _Oh _ **

Brock pauses, because he doesn’t want Jose to think that this means that he wants them to stop talking, and he’s about to write more when-

** _Look at your chest_ **

Brock wrinkles his nose before writing back.

_ What? _

** _Just do it_ **

So he does, pulling his shirt up because he’s still in the stall and he gasps, because Jose’s starting to write along his ribs all delicate and he can see goosebumps rising up on his skin beside them.

** _This better? More sneaky_ **

Brock’s not sure that he’s imagining the shiver that runs down his spine as the words appear, because this feels different from the writing on his arm. He feels more exposed even though he knows that Jose can’t see him, that Jose’s just looking down at his own chest and writing on himself. 

He wonders, for a second, what Jose looks like right now, before pushing the thought from his head, away to the corner of his brain where he pushes most thoughts like that these days. 

_ Yeah. Better. For school. _

The Sharpie tickles on his ribs as he writes and it feels so novel, so new, as if they haven’t been doing this for years and years and years already. 

Jose always manages to surprise him somehow. 

* * *

Brock doesn’t start at ballet school for a few more months, but Jose keeps writing to him on his chest, along his ribs, above his hip bone, and it makes him shiver every time. Like it’s his secret, his secret that he shares with Jose and no one else, and he wonders if first kisses feel like this, enough to make his head want to spin. 

He doesn’t even know what Jose looks like, where Jose lives. He knows that Jose is two years younger than him and also likes science and dance like him but really likes soccer, which Brock doesn’t. He knows that Jose loves his mom more than anyone in the world, and that his brother is older than him and that he doesn’t have sisters like Brock, but he wishes he that he did. 

He wants to know more. He wants to see how Jose laughs in person, if he’s as loud like Brock expects him to be, from the way he loves to write in big capital letters when he’s excited. 

Jose writes to him one evening, their customary smiley face scribbled on his hand, and Brock shovels his dinner so that he can go write back. 

** _Hi_ **

_ Hi _

** _I kissed someone today_ **

The words are etched onto Brock’s shoulder in black ink, bleeding into his skin and Brock draws in a breath, not quite sure why his heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his chest. 

Because it doesn’t matter, right? Just because they’re soulmates doesn’t have to mean-

** _It was a girl_ **

** _It was weird_ **

Brock’s never mentioned that he likes boys because he hasn’t wanted to ask Jose himself, but he’d thought that if his soulmate was another boy that it would mean-

But it doesn’t matter. Soulmates don’t always get together, in the end. 

It’s not like Brock has been thinking about it, letting himself hope that one day, one day, he’ll find Jose in real life and they don’t have to write to each other anymore and that things will suddenly be perfect. 

But that’s not how things work. 

So it’s okay, really, because Jose can kiss girls if he wants to. 

Brock realizes that he hasn’t written back and so he pulls his Sharpie out from his bedside table, scrawls with shaky hands. 

_ Okay _

What else can he say, really? 

For the first time he wants to scrub Jose’s words off of his body, wishing that he didn’t have to see them anymore because _ Jose kissed someone else _and why is it making him feel upset for no reason?

He pulls on a sweater on top of his t-shirt so that he doesn’t have to look at his shoulder anymore, doesn’t have to see what Jose responds with. 

* * *

Brock is getting out of the shower the week when he sees Jose’s writing on his side in the mirror. 

He’s been trying not to look, trying to give himself some space because thinking about Jose is making his heart flip in his chest and he doesn’t like the way it makes him feel even more out of control than he already is. 

But the words that show up now make him pause. 

** _Brock _ **

** _Brock_ **

** _Brock_ **

** _I think I like boys_ **

Brock looks down, trying to crane his neck to see if it really says what he thinks it’s says and it draws all the air out of his lungs when he realizes that it does. 

His Sharpie is on his desk, as always, the ink blurring slightly on his wet skin. 

_ You do? _

** _I don’t like kissing girls that much_ **

** _I don’t wanna kiss them_ **

_ So why did you? _

** _It was spin the bottle, everyone did_ **

** _And then that girl tried to kiss me again later and I was like ew_ **

Brock cracks up, despite himself. He doesn’t even know what Jose looks like but he can picture a look of disgust that mirrors his words easily. 

_ How do you know you like boys? _

Brock’s heart is beating faster and faster, and he’s not sure how long it can go on for before it gives out, trying to pump oxygen when he feels so out of breath. 

** _Because I wanna kiss boys_ **

The next words that appear on Brock’s skin make him gasp. 

** _I wanna kiss you_ **

He’s frozen, his towel around his waist and his skin is starting to dry off from the shower and _ Jose wants to kiss him. _

** _Brock?_ **

** _Sorry I shouldn’t have said that_ **

Brock scrambles to write back because Jose needs to know-

_ I want to kiss you too _

It’s true, when Brock thinks about it, so true because he’s never even met Jose in real life but he feels like he knows him better than anyone else in the world, because Jose is his best friend and he really really is-

His soulmate. 

Jose draws a heart below his ribs and Brock wonders what it’s like to fall in love. 

* * *

Brock is eating breakfast at the kitchen table when he’s seventeen and his mother turns to him. He can see they way she’s peeking down at his arms, even while trying to be discreet. 

Jose only writes to him on his shoulders and chest when he’s at home now, just in case. Brock didn’t have to explain himself, because Jose got it without him having to. 

“Brock.”

He doesn’t want to look up, because he can’t tell anything from his mother’s tone of voice. He’s not sure if he really wants to know. 

“Yeah?”

“Look at me.” 

So he does, reluctantly looking up from his cereal and his mother looks tired, worn down. 

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Words bubble up in his chest but he can’t say them, he can’t make things worse and he _ knows _that his mom probably knows and wants him to say it too, but he can’t-

“No, there isn’t.” 

“Brock, your soulmate-”

He escapes from the table and goes up to his room (‘_ gotta go, I have homework’) _ as his mom sighs, and he realizes as he climbs the stairs and passes their old family pictures on the walk that his dad hasn’t been home in awhile. 

He doodles a small smiley face on his wrist, enough for Jose to notice, then continues above his hip bone. 

_ Does your mom know? _

** _Know what?_ **

_ You know _

He doesn’t want to say it, because he hasn’t even said the words to himself, and if he does then it means that it’s all real and that his mom will hate him and-

** _She knew since I was a kid and kept stealing her dresses and makeup _ **

Brock laughs a little, trying to picture a five year old strutting around in his mother’s heels. 

_ Me too, I did that too _

** _And she doesn’t know??_ **

_ I think she does _

_ She asked me if I had anything to tell her _

_ Today _

** _Yikes_ **

** _You think she’ll be mad?_ **

_ Yeah _

_ I don’t want to tell her _

** _No one says you have to_ **

** _If you don’t wanna right now_ **

_ Okay _

** _If you end up doing so, I’ll be here to cheer you on_ **

Jose draws a stick figure that’s grinning above his belly button and Brock can’t help but feel just a little bit lighter. 

* * *

Brock is eighteen and drunk at a party and kisses his friend Kyle and all he can think about is Jose. 

He doodles on his thigh when he gets back to his room, after his friends drop him off and he flops onto his bed and thinks about what Jose’s lips would taste like. 

** _It’s like 3 am_ **

** _I’m trying to sleep_ **

Brock squints as he fumbles with the Sharpie, trying to write clearly. 

_ I wanna kiss you _

_ I missssss you _

He draws little stars all over his leg while he waits for Jose to write back. 

** _You’ve never met me_ **

_ But I wannaaaaaa _

_ Why do you live in Alska _

_ Alaksa _

_ Alaska _

Brock tilts his head. He can never tell if things are quite spelled right when he’s drunk. 

** _That’s a weird way to spell Florida_ **

_ So you don’t live with polar bears :( _

** _Definitely not_ **

_ :( _

** _We have gators, though_ **

_ No that’s scary _

** _How drunk are you_ **

_ Soooooooooooooooo drnk _

_ I want a polar bear _

** _You should sleep_ **

_ Wanna cuddle with you _

Jose doesn’t respond and Brock’s drunk brain pauses for a second, wondering if he’s said too much but what does it even matter, when Jose’s his soulmate and he love love loves him, even if he doesn’t have a polar bear?

** _Maybe we can do that. In the future_ **

_ YES _

** _Drunk you is bananas_ **

** _You better not wash these off I want you to see this when you’re sober_ **

_ Sober Brock can eat it _

** _Let’s see what you say about that tomorrow _ **

A thought comes to Brock’s mind, one that sober him has been pushing down, down, down, because it’s felt too much to ask, too personal, but fuck it, he’s gonna do it because why the heck not?

_ I wanna see you _

_ Your face _

_ I wanna see _

It’s kept him up at night, distracted him during dance class. Wondering what Jose is like, what he looks like, and Brock isn’t _ shallow, _per se, he’s just curious. Curious as to what his other half looks like. 

** _Bold_ **

_ Pleaseeeeee _

There’s a pause, and then-

** _Write down your phone number_ **

Brock does so, breathlessly, waiting for his cellphone to buzz as he flips it over in his hands, when a picture pops up from an unknown number. 

Jose is the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen. He has a backwards cap on and he’s raising his eyebrows at the camera with a facial expression that’s saying _ really? _

Brock grabs his pen to reply but keeps his phone in his hand, open on the picture because _ wow _Jose is perfect and he can’t stop staring. 

_ Wow _

_ You never told me you were HOT _

_ Omg _

Sure, sober Brock is going to hate him but Brock can’t help it, who cares about inhibitions or self control when his soulmate is absolutely perfect? His dimples and his jawline and his eyebrows and Brock gets how easy it is to fawn over someone, because he’s head over heels for Jose. 

** _Now send me a picture of you_ **

** _Let’s make it even_ **

Brock fumbles with his phone and grins into the camera and it’s probably blurry and he’s a bit stubbly because he didn’t shave today and he’s still in his clothes from the party and looks like a mess, but he sends it anyway. 

A minute ticks by, then another, and Brock’s wondering if he’s made a grave mistake, maybe Jose’s changed his mind-

** _You never told me you were hot, either_ **

_ :) _

** _Dork_ **

* * *

Brock wakes up with a massive headache and a dry mouth. His thighs are covered in his own scribbles and he groans, because it’s almost 11 a.m. but he feels like he’s been hit by a truck. 

He grabs his phone, opens his texts and freezes when he sees an unknown number, a picture of himself and then-

Jose. 

It all comes rushing back to him, flooding his memories and _ oh god he had texted Jose. _

He writes on his stomach because it feels like the most right thing to do. 

_ Oh god I’m sorry I’m sorry _

_ I shouldn’t have done that _

_ Shouldn’t have made you send a pic _

_ I’m sorry _

_ Please don’t hate me _

Brock feels like he’s going to cry, because shit shit _ shit, _he’s probably gone and ruined everything between them and he’s never, ever going to drink again. 

** _It’s okay_ **

** _Wanted to see your face for awhile anyway_ **

_ You did? _

** _Tell me you weren’t curious too_ **

_ I clearly was _

_ My drunk self took over and did that _

** _I’m glad it did because I was too scared to_ **

_ Me too _

Brock lets out a breath. Maybe Jose _ isn’t _mad at him, and things aren’t falling apart just yet, and they’ll be okay. 

** _Now I can imagine your cute ass face when we write _ **

Brock lights up, because Jose actually thinks he’s cute. Jose’s seen a picture of him, and instead of being uninterested, Jose thinks he’s _ cute. _

_ You’re cute _

_ Real cute _

He wishes he could say more without sounding too pushy, too forward, too expectant. He wants to tell Jose that his eyes are brighter than the stars and the photo he sent is still making him smile, even now. He only as of last night knows what Jose looks like, but he feels like he’s known his entire life. 

Brock’s phone buzzes again and it’s another picture, and this time Jose’s blowing a kiss to the camera and Brock finally knows what all the movies mean when they talk about love at first sight.


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being able to perform in drag feels good to Brock, makes him feel alive. Lights him up on stage the way he’s always wanted ballet to do so, because now he actually gets to wear the hair and outfits that he’s always wanted to and transform and draw all the eyes in the room towards him. 
> 
> He wants to tell Jose about it, send him more pictures of his drag, but he’s intimidated. Jose still works at Mac and does drag on the side and he looks good , real good, every time he sends a picture and makes Brock zoom in on it to see exactly how he’s done his contour, his cut creases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO so much for all the sweet feedback on the first chapter! This fic is absolutely becoming one of my favourites to write, and I am so glad that you all are enjoying it so far, it makes me so happy. 
> 
> I made a playlist for this fic too, if music is your thing. Listen here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1kkZeX8zzUP5scjk1BHUpZ?si=zb-4sctUSKm1In2GamDmrg
> 
> Writ is the best beta <33

Brock is nineteen and his friend Emily from ballet school is putting her makeup on his face and he’s never been more excited about Halloween in his life.

He writes to Jose on his forearm while Emily dusts blush on his cheeks, hoping that she doesn’t notice.

_ I’m dressing up in drag for Halloween _

** _Me too!!!_ **

_ WHAT _

** _YEAH_ **

_ Show me your look I wanna see _

** _Not yet I’m doing my makeup _ **

Brock remembers Jose mentioning his new job at Mac, seeing the pictures he’s sent of his makeup looks that make him look even more ethereal than he already is. He wishes that Jose could be here now, be the one to do his makeup. 

Emily tosses Brock a dress, tells him to try it on and sure, Brock still has a shadow on his face and his jaw is big even under his wig but he looks-

Good_. _

He could get used to dressing up in drag. 

His phone buzzes because Jose’s sent a picture, and Brock gasps because Jose looks like a _ woman. _Granted, Brock’s perception of what women are actually like is a bit warped, having gone to the gay village with his friends to watch drag queens too many a time after reaching the legal drinking age, but Jose looks like one. Better than the ones he’s seen. 

_ Wow _

_ You look amazing _

** _THANKS _ **

** _Now show me yours_ **

_ No I don’t look as good as you _

** _Yes you do I bet_ **

So Brock sends one, because he can never really say no to Jose for long.

** _OMG_ **

** _You look SO TALL_ **

** _A whole ass model_ **

_ Do not _

_ You’re just trying to make me feel better _

** _Lemme do your makeup next time _ **

It tugs on Brock’s heart, because he wishes there was a way that Jose actually could. 

* * *

Brock is twenty six and on a date with a guy and he’s absolutely bored stiff.

Because the guy is not Jose.

They’d agreed to date around a little bit, to explore a few years back. To see what other guys were like (even though Brock knows Jose is the one), just to be _ sure, _ until they’re in the same place_. _

Besides, they have forever in front of them, right?

But Brock’s never really found any of them interesting, connected with any. He finds more and more that he sleeps with them and is inevitably disappointed, waking up the next morning to doodle on his side until Jose wakes up and replies, too. 

He never texts any of the guys back, never goes on a second date. It feels disloyal, somehow, even though he knows that Jose is probably doing the same thing.

He tries not to think about Jose kissing someone else, or sleeping with someone else.

He ends the date without so much as a kiss goodbye, already pulling out a Sharpie from his coat pocket on the walk back to his apartment. He barely gets the cap of the marker off before his phone buzzes. 

_ “There’s a pageant in Georgia that I want you to do.” _His drag mom’s voice crackles on the other end of the line, Farrah always wanting to push him, wanting him to try more.

“A plane ticket’s going to be expensive.” Brock bites his lip. He’s been picking up part time jobs during the day to fund his drag, after stopping ballet because his tired and worn body can’t take it anymore, the touring and the dancing that’s been breaking him down. 

_ “We’ll drive down. We have all your drag to take, too. It’ll be good for people on the Southern scene to get a look at you, get you on their radars.” _

“Just tell me in advance so I can book time off work.” Brock unlocks his apartment door, letting himself in as he tugs off his jacket, dropping it on the couch. 

_ “In two weeks. So we’ve got to work on your looks and your numbers again.” _

Being able to perform in drag feels good to Brock, makes him feel alive. Lights him up on stage the way he’s always wanted ballet to do so, because now he actually gets to wear the hair and outfits that he’s always wanted to and transform and draw all the eyes in the room towards him. 

He wants to tell Jose about it, send him more pictures of his drag, but he’s intimidated. Jose still works at Mac and does drag on the side and he looks _ good _, real good, every time he sends a picture and makes Brock zoom in on it to see exactly how he’s done his contour, his cut creases.

Jose’s started drawing drag makeup sketches with coloured markers on his legs and Brock realizes that Jose is his favourite artist, maybe ever. 

* * *

Brock is in Georgia and the backstage of a pageant reminds him of his ballet days but more fun, because now he gets to dress up all pretty too. 

Brock gets his makeup done before everyone else backstage, dusting setting powder on his face and adjusting his wig line while the rest of the girls competing are still outlining their contours.

It’s both a blessing and a curse, being able to do his makeup so fast. On one hand, he knows that he’s finished and doesn’t need to worry about being on time but on the other hand, he ruminates.

He mentally rehearses his talent routine over and over in his mind, trying to get the steps _ just _right, the way that they were with the backup dancers in rehearsal. He can’t have any mistakes, at least, not ones that he can prevent. 

Brock has heard of most of the girls competing, seeing quite a few on the pageant circuit a little north. But there’s a handful of queens that he’s never met before, including Alexis Mateo, who’s also ready like Brock and standing with a crowd of dancers, tapping her foot and scowling as she checks the time on her phone. 

_ "José, si no estás listo en los próximos cinco minutos, juro por dios-" _

“I’m coming, I’m coming, Mary! Wait up!” Brock is nearly knocked over when a guy bounds past him, yelling _ excuse me’s _as he weaves himself past all of the vanity mirrors and towards Alexis. A backup dancer, Brock guesses, from the way that his outfit matches the rest of them.

But then the guy joins the group, runs a hand through his hair as turns around, shooting one last look at the queens getting ready before turning back to face Alexis and Brock’s heart stops beating right in his chest, his breath hitching as the makeup brush falls from his hand and onto the table. 

The eyebrows, the perfect jawline, the features that have been burned into Brock’s memory by now by how often Brock sees him in his mind?

It’s Jose. 

“Ready? Let’s practice your walk, since you’re already done.” Farrah’s tugging on Brock’s hand and getting him to stand up and it’s a miracle, really, that his legs are supporting him because Jose is _ right there_, walking out the door with Alexis’ group and every fibre of Brock’s being wants to go after him. 

But he also knows that they’re about to start a competition, and Farrah would absolutely kill him if he went after a boy.

Even if that boy is his soulmate. 

* * *

Brock floats through his numbers in a daze, because nothing seems real and Jose is _ right there, _laughing and dancing and yelling his head off and he’s perfect, just like Brock knew he’d be. 

He gets first alternate and he’s not even disappointed like he usually would be, because sure, he wants to win but he’s found his soulmate and as soon as he gets off the stage and takes off his crown and sash and heels, he can go find him, talk to him. 

Brock looks around frantically, handing Farrah the flowers he’d been given on stage, because he’s about to drop them and he needs to find Jose_ , _ needs to find him now. 

Jose’s with Alexis and the rest of her dancers, Red Bull in hand and making silly jokes and Brock is shaking as he walks towards him, and maybe he should have gotten out of drag first-

He grabs for Jose’s arm and it feels like he’s been struck by lightning. 

Jose turns around as if he’s been burned, looking him up and down curiously as if trying to place his face (why, _ why _didn’t he get out of drag first) before his mouth drops open, and Brock is nearly knocked over by the weight of Jose in his arms. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my _ god-” _

Brock’s never felt this much before, never been convinced that he’s absolutely going to be bowled over until right now, because how are his legs supporting him when Jose is in his arms and burying his face in his chest as if he’ll disappear, they’ll disappear if they let go?

Brock pulls back, draws in a gasp because it’s become hard to breathe, and Alexis is looking at them curiously because both of them look like they’ve seen a ghost. 

Jose is perfect, from the way his eyes are wide, flitting along Brock’s face and the way his hand is running through his hair while his other hand is reaching out for Brock and Brock gets it, because he doesn’t want to let go of Jose again. 

“Sorry, I’m still in drag, I should have-”

“Let me help you, come with you.”

“Okay.”

They grab Brock’s stuff from his vanity mirror and head for a bathroom because Brock doesn’t want to be around anyone else except for Jose. His hands are shaking as he puts down his makeup bag and makeup remover and Jose grabs the makeup wipe from his hand. 

As loud as he had been earlier Jose is gentle now, pulling off Brock’s fake lashes with care and his wig and running his hands through Brock’s curls after his wig cap is off, and Brock feels himself leaning into the touch, still feels like he’s on fire. 

As the layers and layers of makeup come off and Brock leaves Brooke behind, Jose’s face is filled with more and more marvel. His eyes map the contours of Brock’s face, his fingers tracing his patterns along Brock’s jaw, his cheekbones, above his eyebrows. As if he’s trying to commit everything to memory. 

Jose helps Brock unlace his corset, though it doesn’t help Brock in bringing the air back into his lungs, because he feels like it’s been permanently knocked out of them now. Brock is about to pull on a hoodie, something soft after the hours and hours of restricting drag, before Jose throws his arms around him. 

Brock’s had first kisses before. First kiss with a boy. First onstage kiss for ballet. First drunken kiss. 

But this one? Blows all of them out of the water. 

Jose is energy, pure energy that is feeding Brock’s soul, and he’s making Brock wonder how he’s survived nearly twenty seven years on earth without this. Without Jose, without feeling like he’s whole, because now he truly, truly gets the definition of a soulmate. 

No wonder he hasn’t felt something with any other guy. How could he even begin to try, when Jose is entering his heart and fixing everything and making it whole again? 

Jose whines into his mouth and Brock gets it, because it’s enough but it’s _ not, _it’s not, he needs more and Jose needs more and he’s waited more than two decades for this and he needs it now. 

Brock pulls back from the kiss and Jose’s eyes are wild, his lips swollen and parted and his hands shaking. They’ve talked to each other every day since they were kids and Brock feels like he knows absolutely everything about the man in front of him, but he needs to know more. 

* * *

Brock is in a hotel room in Georgia and Jose is in his arms. 

He doesn’t know how he’s going to go back to Toronto while Jose goes back to Tampa, how he’ll return to his everyday life without Jose there with him. Now that Jose is lying on his chest, fast asleep and mouth slightly parted as his eyes flutter, now that Brock finally, _ finally _feels like he’s complete, he doesn’t want to let him go. 

He can’t stop staring at him. Jose, beautiful perfect Jose who is funny and loud and had made Brock smile the entire night more than he has in his entire life. Jose, who is a ball of lightning that ricochets around the room and Brock isn’t able to take his eyes off of him, no matter how hard he tries. 

Brock had gotten to kiss every inch of Jose’s skin that he could reach, see goosebumps rise along the areas where he’s written messages to him for what feels like forever. 

Jose had taken out a Sharpie from his bag after their second round, when they were both spent but didn’t want to let go of each other, didn’t want to stop holding on, being connected. He’d drawn a heart on his own wrist and both of them had watched as it appeared on Brock’s mere moments later. 

Their bodies aren’t quite the same but they complement one another, the drawings showing up on their skin in matching places, mirror images reflecting on each other almost perfectly. They had drawn new designs after every round, traced their hands over each mark in wonder, as if they’d never seen it happen before and hadn’t been writing to each other for nearly their entire lives. 

Now here they are, in a hotel bed somewhere in Georgia as the moonlight streams in through the slightly open window, and the slight breeze makes Brock hold Jose just a bit tighter to him. Brock swears that he can feel Jose’s heart, how it beats at the same pace that his own does as he sleeps on top of him. Because they’re linked somehow, the blood that’s running through their veins and keeping them alive beating in sync, the way that the two of them have always been. 

* * *

Brock calls in sick to work the day that Farrah starts to drive back to Toronto without him, because he can’t leave Jose just yet. Jose argues with the manager of his Mac store over the phone ('_I told y’all, I got mononowhatever it is, I ain’t coming in’) _and Brock’s eyes trace over his taut form, marvelling at how he had fit so well against his side like a puzzle piece.

He puts his duffle bag in Jose’s car (he’s sent his drag back up to Toronto with Farrah already) and climbs in the passenger seat. They drive to Atlanta because they can, because it’s a new city for both of them and they can make fresh memories there, even if just for a day. The car ride is filled with snacks and stolen kisses and Brock’s hand drawing patterns on Jose’s thigh, nearly making him crash at least twice. 

They stop at a diner and share a milkshake like they’re a well worn cliche, trading whispers across the table and Jose’s voice when it’s soft reminds Brock of the way that Jose always writes ** _goodnight _ **on his palm before he falls asleep. 

Their sex that night is less frantic, less exploratory, more reaffirming. Brock finds that it’s incredibly easy to figure out how to make Jose come undone and dig his nails into his skin. Maybe it’s because he’s already known all along. Worshipping Jose with his mouth makes him believe in something bigger, something with a higher power upon the universe, more than any visits to church as a child ever did. Because what else would allow Brock to experience this, experience _ Jose_, making him feel like his soul is never going to be the same afterwards ever again?

They order in food to their hotel room and Jose pulls on Brock’s hoodie, and Brock swears that he sees him bury his face in it more than once. 

They’re lying in bed when the clock reads 2 a.m., and Jose is tracing patterns along Brock’s ribs. Brock almost expects to see ink marks appear on his skin underneath Jose’s fingertips. Jose looks up at him, under those long lashes like he can’t get enough, like looking away from him for more than a second means that he’s losing out. Brock gets it, because he’s been doing the same thing. 

Time seems to pass faster with Jose, as if being in proximity to a soulmate means that every moment is precious, so easily lost. 

“What are we gonna do?” 

“I dunno.” Brock wishes that he did. That he had an answer for this, that they didn’t live two thousand or so kilometers away from each other. 

“Me neither.” Jose grabs onto him ever so slightly tighter. 

“We’ll figure it out. It’s not going to be forever.” Brock runs his fingers through Jose’s hair, hears him let out a hum. “We can visit.”

“You better bring your ass to Tampa often. I don’t wanna go back without you.”

“As long as you bring yours to Toronto.” 

“That don’t even sound like a real place.” Jose’s eyes are sparkling and it reminds Brock of the night sky.

“They found a monkey in a fur coat in an IKEA once in Toronto, so I’m not really sure that it is.” Brock watches as Jose raises an eyebrow, waits for him to say that he’s joking. Jose scoffs when he doesn’t. 

“Canada sounds whack. But it gave me you, so.” Jose leans back into Brock’s side, presses a kiss to his ribs and Brock feels like it puts him back together. 

* * *

Brock’s on a flight back to Toronto and he’s never felt emptier in his life.

_ I miss you I miss you I miss you _

Jose’s driving back to Tampa so he can’t reply, Brock knows, but he hopes that he sees the words on the back of his hands as they hold the steering wheel. 

Brock falls asleep after the flight attendant gives him a diet coke, and he wakes up to stars on his palms and hearts along his wrists. 

Going back to work during the day, and back to the drag scene in the Village during the night makes Brock feel empty. How can he clock in for eight hours while trying to pretend to care, when his soulmate is far, far down on the coast? How can he tuck his dick back and pull on hip pads and layers of makeup and a wig that squeezes his head too tight, knowing that Jose won’t be there to help him take it all off?

It makes everything feel worthless.

But a little nagging voice in the back of his head reminds him of what his sisters had said, back when they were young and would weave stories about soulmates and what it meant to fall in love.

People have gone mad for their soulmates. Thrown their whole lives away, only to have everything blow up in their faces. Lost family and friends and money all in pursuit for one person, who may not be able to give them what they need.

Brock knows that him and Jose aren’t like that. They’re _ not. _They’re Brock and Jose, they write messages to each other and maybe, just maybe, it keeps him from drowning.

But he also doesn’t want to rest the responsibility of his happiness solely on Jose.

So Brock gets into drag every night, picking up gigs on Church Street and he keeps on trekking.

* * *

Brock is twenty eight and packing for appearances as Miss Continental when Jose’s words blossom on his forearm.

** _So are you applying for drag race this year or what_ **

_ Yeah. Again. You? _

Brock’s applied once already. Last year, when he’d moved to Nashville and Jose had cheered because he was closer but grumbled because he wasn’t close enough. But now they take turns driving to each other, the ten hour trek not feeling so long to Brock when he knows what’s waiting at the end of it. They take long weekends, holidays, any short stretches of time they have. But it never feels like it’s satisfying enough, like it quenches Brock’s need for Jose to always be within reaching distance.

** _Yeah filmed an audition tape. Alexis directed it and it’s wild_ **

_ I wanna see _

** _Show me yours too_ **

Brock’s is boring, pretty much a resume of his drag career with his crowning of Miss Continental as a highlight. But the video that Jose sends him makes him burst out laughing.

He’s his usual perfect hilarious self but cranked up about ten notches, shouting about how he deserves to be on the show and lip syncing with numbers full of death drops that make Brock’s tired knees ache just from watching.

He’s magnetic.

_ God, they’re gonna love you _

** _What no you think so??? It’s not too crazy????_ **

_ Oh, it’s crazy alright. But so you _

** _Bitch what’s that supposed to mean_ **

_ It’s a compliment, you goof _

** _Yours is good too, you professional fish_ **

_ I don’t know if it’s good enough, though _

** _You’re always good enough_ **

But a month and a half later Brock is the first one to find out that Jose’s made it on season ten of Drag Race after he gets the call, when Jose writes the number 10 with exclamation points purple ink on his palm. 

Brock doesn’t get the same call. 

He continues his Miss Continental appearances, helps Jose put together outfits for the runways with some of his designer connections. He tries not to be bitter when he can practically feel Jose’s excitement pumping through his own veins. 

Jose goes radio silent on social media but his nerves bleed through ink on Brock’s thigh the night before filming starts for episode one.

** _Oh my god oh my god it’s tomorrow_ **

** _Brock _ **

** _I wish you were here_ **

_ Me too _

Brock really, really does.

_ You’ll do amazing, you’ll show them just how amazing you are _

_ Everyone deserves to see you, be impressed by you _

_ Have you light up their worlds like you light up mine _

** _That’s poetic as shit _ **

_ I know you’re tearing up over it though _

** _Fuck yeah I am_ **

** _You’re the worst_ **

** _That’s a lie you’re the best_ **

_ Go sleep, you need to be fully rested before tomorrow _

A flower appears on Brock’s hipbone before he drifts off to sleep.

* * *

Brock is getting into drag at Play Nashville when words start to appear on his forearms and his chest and his ribs and he can tell Jose is upset.

** _So fucking stupid, I fucked up, Alexis is gonna be so upset shit shit shit_ **

Brock puts his foundation down because Jose needs him more, right now. He knows that Jose’s only his second day into filming and hasn’t wanted to bother him, but now that he’s in trouble Brock is more than willing to be there. 

_ What happened? _

** _I messed up, that’s what_ **

_ How? _

** _They sending me home first_ **

** _I’m first out Brock I’m fucking first out_ **

** _I thought I did well in the lipsync but this other bitch brought money and threw it around stage_ **

** _Who the fuck does that_ **

_ Shit _

_ I’m sorry baby, shit _

Brock bites his lip. He can only imagine Jose right now, getting out of drag while Brock is getting into it, Sharpie shaking in his hands as he tries to write.

Jose is a star and Brock knows it, and he doesn’t know how Jose ended up in the bottom but he doesn’t want to pry, make things worse. Brock wishes he could be there instead, in LA at whatever studio they’re filming at just to wrap Jose in his arms under the guise of making everything better, while also giving the judges a piece of his mind.

Not that he has the courage to do that, but still.

Brock doesn’t need to watch the episode to know that Jose deserves better than this. But he knows Jose, knows how good he is at making everyone turn their eyes towards him, command them to pay attention.

Brock knows, he just knows, that Jose is still going to be successful. Maybe they’ll even bring him back for another season.

He draws out plans on his leg for what they’ll do when Jose comes to visit him next, then writes a story about how Jose is going to be a bigger star than anyone on his season. Jose scoffs and writes little annotations and jokes around his words, but Brock somehow can already feel the way the burden is lifting from his chest. 

* * *

Brock is twenty-nine and his soulmate has just gone and broken the internet. 

It seems that Brock can’t go to a gig, can’t scroll through Instagram without seeing ‘Miss Vanjie’ memes everywhere. Jose’s face all done up in drag, strolling backwards and making the judges crack up and absolutely everyone around him is repeating the words over and over again.

Jose is as befuddled as he is after the episode airs, and it feels like the universe as they know it is beginning to explode.

** _I swear my brain wasn’t even working I was just walking backwards and acting a damn fool not even knowing what was leaving my mouth_ **

** _Didn’t even properly remember till watching this_ **

_ And now you’re a meme _

** _Fuck_ **

_ I think Kathy Griffin tweeted about you _

** _Who tf is that_ **

** _Apparently I need to get a manager and an agent now_ **

_ Wow _

** _Alexis said so_ **

** _People be calling left and right _ **

_ I’m so proud of you _

** _I didn’t even do anything I just said my name cause I forgot every other word that exists_ **

_ And everyone absolutely loves it _

Jose starts getting booked first all around the country, and then all around the world, and they can’t drive to visit each other anymore because Jose is always on the road but he always makes sure to write ** _I love you _ **under Brock’s ribs every night. 

* * *

Brock gets the call for season eleven of Drag Race at 2 in the afternoon and he nearly falls off his couch and brings Henry and Apollo down with him. 

They’re making him sign an NDA but he’s read it over, and no one’s mentioned soulmates and Brock _ needs _to find a Sharpie or pen, damnit, and why does his living room suddenly seem devoid of them?

He stubs his toe on the kitchen counter when he finds one on the table, swearing under his breath as he pops the cap but then words are showing up on the back of his hand.

** _BROCK BROCK BROCK_ **

** _THEY CALLED ME BACK_ **

** _THEY WANT ME FOR SEASON ELEVEN_ **

Brock wants to pick up Henry and dance around his kitchen because he’s going to be on season eleven of Drag Race and now Jose is going to be _ with him. _

_ I JUST HUNG UP THE PHONE TOO _

** _WHAT!!!_ **

** _You’re not playing are you_ **

** _Tell me you’re not playing_ **

_ NO THEY REALLY CALLED ME _

** _WE’RE GOING TO BE ON SEASON ELEVEN TOGETHER?????_ **

** _oh my GOD_ **

** _Facetime me facetime me _ **

Jose picks up while he’s walking through an airport terminal with his manager, Jason, and fuck NDAs because Jose is being _ loud, _practically screaming at the top of his lungs and Brock feels like he’s never ever going to stop smiling again.

“You did it. You’re going back.” Brock _ knew _that Jose was meant to be a star, back when they were kids and Jose would tell him stories about how his abuela had thought the same thing. And now Jose’s going to do it twice over, after having done it on season ten already. 

“I’m going-_ bitch, _ you fucking made the season!” Jose spins around and Jason’s running behind him, telling him to _ keep his voice down _but Jose doesn’t seem to care and Brock doesn’t either, really. “They really loved your Canadian ass this time around, huh?”

“Seems so.” It’s not quite sinking in for Brock just yet, the fact that in a handful of weeks he’s going to fly down to LA and film Drag Race and oh boy, he has so many runway looks that he has to put together before that and practically no time to do so-

“Hey. You. Don’t lose your shit on me.” Jose’s looking at him with that all knowing expression, because he always has an inkling of when Brock’s brain starts to get the better of him. “You made it. The hard part’s done and now the journey’s just beginning, baby.” 

Brock smiles despite himself. He’s done it, he’s done it, and now he’s going to be there with Jose and have him to lean on and they can write to each other constantly and-

“Just don’t get out first like I did.” Jose snorts. It’s an old wound now, one that’s scabbed over and healed by the endless success that Jose’s been experiencing in the past year, much more so than quite a few girls from his season. 

Jose really can do anything, in Brock’s eyes, his magnetic force of a man that Brock first saw command a room but now is commanding the entire world. Brock would say that he’s surprised by Jose being selected for season eleven again but he’s not, not at all, because who wouldn’t want him back? 

And now Brock gets to go with him, too. 


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock’s arms seek Jose out almost unconsciously, Jose fitting there like he’s always meant to, and Brock has to resist pressing a kiss to the top of his head what with three cameras filming them at one time.
> 
> A’keria’s looking between the two of them with a curious expression when Jose’s hand stays on his thigh as they sit around a table, and Brock can’t help but put his hand on top of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Third and final chapter. Thank you so much for all the sweet wonderful feedback on this fic. I enjoyed writing it so, so much, and it's always going to hold a special place in my heart. Hope you enjoy this last instalment. Writ is the best beta <3

Brock is days away from his plane to LA to film season eleven of Drag Race and he’s never felt more harried in his life. 

The past two weeks have been a haze of calls with designers, fittings, picking up garments, and trying not to think about the fact that he’s soon going to be filmed for national television.

It’s not that Brock’s a shy person, not really. He can work a crowd, he can entertain people and make them laugh especially if he has a drink in hand.

But he does it underneath his armour of drag, layers and layers of makeup and clothing and pads and tights and they make him feel indestructible when he has them on. Once all of it is stripped away, though?

He’s terrified of it. 

_How do you do it_

_ **Do what** _

_Get people to like you so much_

_Make everyone fall in love with you_

_ **Pretty sure that’s just you falling in love with me, boo** _

_No seriously_

_ **Why’re you asking** _

_We’re gonna be on camera_

_ **Uh huh** _

_Everyone’s gonna watch us_

_ **Uh huh ** _

_People we don’t even know_

_ **You bet ** _

_ **But you know what** _

_ **You’re fucking weird but also the best ** _

_ **Anyone with a brain cell is going to love you ** _

_But what if they don’t_

What if people think that he’s terrible, that he’s a failure, that he doesn’t deserve to be on this season? What if he fucks up and matches Jose by going home first this season? 

_ **So then fuck em** _

_ **Who cares about the one percent that don’t** _

_ **I don’t want your crazy ass to be listening to them** _

_ **Focus on those who are louder and love you** _

_ **‘Cause they the ones who are right** _

_ **Not people with shitty opinions that match your inner sabotore** _

_ **sabatoor** _

_ **sabotour** _

_ **Oh fuck it you know what I mean** _

Brock laughs despite himself, wishing that Jose was here with him instead of states away. 

_You did NOT just say inner saboteur_

_ **And what about it?** _

Brock pauses before his next question. Not because he doesn’t know how to ask it, but more so because he doesn’t know if he wants to find out what Jose’s answer is. But his planning, detail oriented side wins out the way that it always does. 

_Are we gonna tell everyone?_

_ **About what** _

_ **OH** _

Brock snorts but he gets it, really. Being able to talk to Jose feels so natural, so part of him that he can’t distinguish it from breathing or falling asleep, that he forgets that not everyone has it, that it’s not common knowledge. That soulmates aren’t universal for everyone. 

That Jose is his. 

_ **I dunno** _

_ **What do you think** _

_I don’t know either_

_Do you think they would use it against us_

_ **Production would maybe** _

_ **I dunno if the rest of the cast would care** _

_What if they see it as an advantage _

_Call it cheating_

_ **Cheating how ** _

_I dunno_

_I just don’t want to lose the ability to talk to you y'know_

_ **Fuck** _

_ **Me neither** _

_ **I’d lose my damn mind not having you ** _

_ **Talking to my crazy self** _

_**I’d miss you too much ** _

Brock’s heart tugs the way it always does when he has to leave Jose, when he doesn’t know when he’ll see him again. Even though soon they’ll be together in actual physical proximity, for an extended period of time. 

At least, Brock hopes so because neither of them better go home first. 

* * *

Brock’s just walked into the workroom for the first time and he’s scared shitless, but Jose is sitting there sparkling in glitter and beaming at him and the sight is enough to calm him down.

Nina’s bounding over to him, hugging him ever so tight. Brock is elated because he’s going to have Nina and Jose with him, and maybe the idea of being on national television is less scary when people closest to him are by his side.

Brock’s arms seek Jose out almost unconsciously, Jose fitting there like he’s always meant to, and Brock has to resist pressing a kiss to the top of his head what with three cameras filming them at one time.

A’keria’s looking between the two of them with a curious expression when Jose’s hand stays on his thigh as they sit around a table, and Brock can’t help but put his hand on top of his. 

It feels weird as the day goes on, having to pretend like he doesn’t know every inch of Jose better than he knows himself. Pretending Jose is just a cute acquaintance when production asks Brock what he thinks of him as they’re filming confessionals. Part of him wants to scream it out to the world, have everyone know. But on the other hand it feels like they’re back in high school, sneaking around and kissing behind the bleachers. They are, in a way, based on how Jose tugs him into a bathroom stall and pulls him close, both of them breathless and wide eyed and giggling. 

“This is already miles ahead of season ten.” 

“Why, ‘cause you haven’t gone home first yet?”

“_Bitch_.” Jose smacks Brock’s arm and it makes him cackle. “It’s still day one.” 

“We’re both gonna keep going way past the first episode.” Brock cups Jose’s face with his palm, his thumb running across his cheekbone, almost forgetting that they’re cooped up in a bathroom stall.  
  
“Till we lip-sync for that crown and I beat you for that 100k check. I’ll dance all around your pirouetting ass.” Jose grins and it’s so bright, so radiant, so perfectly him.

“You wish.” Brock ruffles his hair, grinning when it makes Jose grumble. “Though I’ll be sure to stay out of the way of your flailing limbs.” 

What a sight it will be if the two of them make it to the end. Brock doesn’t ever, ever want to lip-sync against Jose in a competition setting unless the two of them are lip-syncing for the crown. He’s not sure if his heart would be able to take the damage. 

* * *

Brock’s on the main stage and looking like a neon superhero and he fucking feels like one too, because he’s just won the first main challenge.

He’s won. He’s actually won. 

The five year old inside of Brock wants to dance around while his pageant side reins him in and holds him back, keeps him looking composed on the main stage. Besides, Ru’s looking at him and Michelle’s looking at him and Miley Cyrus is looking at her cuticles but he needs to remain poised, or Farrah will absolutely ream him out for it later.

Not only that, Jose’s been called safe.

Brock’s still here. _Jose’s_ still here. He’s going to get more days with him in this weird little filming bubble that is already making him lose his perception of reality, and it’s only been a couple of days.

Jose pulls Brock to the smoking area as soon as the cameras call _cut_ and they get a break, while production goes to film Soju going home. 

He’s the prettiest girl Brock’s ever seen, a red flower crown on his head and glittering like he’s a star on fire. Jose looks like the world’s been lifted from his shoulders and Brock _gets_ it, years and years of being Jose’s soulmate makes him feel Jose’s relief, Jose’s elation that he’s still here, he’s on to episode two. 

“Y’know, I’m still mad as hell they sent me home first last season but being here right now? Feels like the best type of revenge.” Jose rubs his hands together and Brock has to hold back a laugh.

“Revenge against who?” 

Jose shrugs. “I dunno. Just feels fucking great.” He straightens up, taps Brock’s shoulder. “Also, you! Winning the first challenge and getting a first class ticket straight to Paris, bitch!”

Brock can’t help himself, he wiggles his hands around excitedly because he’s been holding it in, damn it, and Jose won’t judge him for it. “I still can’t believe it.” 

“You better take me to Paris with you. I want some fresh croissants.” 

Brock hasn’t even thought about yet about who he’ll bring with him, but seven days in Paris with Jose seems like a dream. He’s gonna draw it out for Jose, though. “I’ll bring you if you’re good.” 

Jose pouts and Brock has to resist the urge to kiss him, ruin both of their lipsticks. “I’m real good.” 

Brock grins, unable to resist the hand he lets drift above Jose’s hipbone, making him shiver. “Are you, now?” 

He’s about to grip him more tightly, do something incredibly stupid, but then production’s yelling out_ ‘five minutes!’ _and they jump backwards from each other, looking around to see if anyone’s caught them.

Not yet. Their secret remains safe, for now. 

* * *

Brock is in a highlighter orange jumpsuit and he feels like a helicopter, hovering and tutting over Jose who’s spiralling down and down and down.

Brock doesn’t know what to do when there’s cameras watching their every move, and every part of him just wants to pull Jose in close and tight to his chest and whisper just how amazing he is into his ear. 

Jose’s shoulders are slumped, his fake lashes cast to the ground and Brock can’t help but put his fingers under Jose’s chin, lift his face up towards him. 

Brock waits until Tiffany Pollard comes backstage and the rest of the cast is squealing over her, his heart hurting over the fact that Jose would absolutely be joining them if he wasn’t so upset right now. He grabs Jose’s hand while the cameras are all trained on the Untucked couches, pulls him behind a set backdrop and turns off their mics. 

Jose looks up at him, confused. “What are you-”

“Shhh.” Brock holds up a finger to his lips, replies in a whisper. “Don’t want them to catch us.”

“Right.” Jose’s trying to whisper, he really is, bless his heart, not that he’s being successful at all. 

Not that Brock really minds too much. 

“You were better than most of those girls up there, in my eyes.” He’s going to tell Jose over and over again, lift the veil of self hatred and disappointment that seems to be marring Jose’s being over his own performance in Trump: The Rusical. “And the judges gave you better critiques than Mercedes and Ra’jah. They’re going to call you as safe.” 

“Wish I was as confident in that as you are.” Jose’s laugh is humourless. “I can’t go home yet. I fucking can’t be a disappointment again.” 

“You were the biggest name on season ten. Hands down. How is that a disappointment?” Brock doesn’t get it, because Jose’s successful and winning at the game of being a famous drag queen and Brock could really pick up some tips from him.

“‘Cause I’m not good at _this_.” Jose gestures to himself, to his outfit. “I can be a headass and make people laugh but I’m bombing all these damn challenges.” 

“You’re not bombing them.” Maybe Brock sounds a little indignant but Jose is wrong, he is. “Literally the challenge before this episode. The diva worship one. You killed it.” 

“And yet, still safe. I dunno what it’s gonna take. Gonna have to pull a bunny out of a hat at this point.” Jose grumbles but the image makes Brock laugh.

“That’s one way to do a lip-sync reveal.” Brock nudges Jose’s side, sees the little smile peeking out on his face no matter how hard he tries to hide it. 

“Speaking of romance, where’d they go, disappearin’ again? We know you two be hiding!” A’keria’s yelling and all of the other castmates are cackling along with her, and Brock can hear Tiffany Pollard’s voice letting out an ominous _Miss Vaaaanjie_.

Jose lets out a little huff. “So damn nosy-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentiment because A’keria’s tugging on both of their hands, pulling them over to the couch. Brock kisses Jose in front of the rest of the girls because they’re all goading them on and the shrieks they let out makes Brock wonder how they’d react if they found out that him and Jose are soulmates. 

Jose’s drawings show up in orange ink on Brock’s skin that night, matching the runway theme and the way Brock’s own heart feels like it’s bathed in warm sunlight. 

* * *

Brock is trapped in a hotel room and he feels restless.

He wants to do something. Anything. Go for a walk, run some errands, but the door of his hotel room has been taped over and he’s not allowed to leave.

It’s 11:47 p.m., and Brock knows that he should probably sleep, considering that they’re all going to be up early to head to filming and he still needs to finish putting his final Farm to Runway look together. 

Hell, he’d even rather work on his look than be pacing in the tiny room, like he is right now. 

_Psst_

_I’m bored_

Brock feels like a child passing notes in grade school, bothering his best friend while he tries to pay attention to the teacher.

_ **What do you want me to do about it** _

_Give me something to do about it _

_ **I’m working on my squats** _

_What? You are NOT_

_Really?_

_ **How else do you think I keep my booty looking so tight** _

_Jesus Christ_

Though Jose isn’t wrong. It _is_ a great butt, and one that Brock misses, quite frankly. The fact that him and Jose are both in hotel rooms, but separate ones so that they can’t even do anything about it, is ridiculous.

_ **I do know something that can keep you entertained though** _

_What_

Brock watches as the cartoon outline of a dick appears on his chest and he can practically hear Jose’s cackle in whatever hotel room he’s in. 

A second one appears on his thigh, then a third on his bicep, and he can’t help but snort.

_You having fun_

_ **Plenty fun thanks for asking** _

_I’ll leave you to it then_

_Have fun washing these off_

_ **BITCH come back** _

_Miss me already huh _

_ **I know you miss me too don’t be playing** _

_I do _

_But you seem to be having fun with your doodles, I’ll let you do that_

_ **Boy if you don’t-** _

_You just like being a tease_

_ **What you gonna do about it ** _

_Leave you to it_

_ **Don’t you dare** _

_Why, do you want something else? _

Sure, Brock is alone in his hotel room, but he can’t help the shit eating grin that grows on his face. He knows that Jose isn’t going to be able to resist something so blatant. 

_ **I want you** _

_You’ll have to be more specific than that_

Brock can almost imagine the way that Jose must be muttering bitch under his breath, getting antsier by the second. Hell, he knows that he is himself. 

_ **Fuck** _

_ **I miss you fucking me ** _

_ **Filling me up** _

_ **Pinning me down** _

Brock unbuttons his pants, pulls out his dick and he has to resist a groan, because _fuck_, now he’s thinking about it and it’s been too long, he needs it now. He drops all pretenses of teasing Jose, because his self control is all but gone.

_I wanna bend you over the counter like last time _

_Remember how whiny you were _

_I had to punish you because you were misbehaving so much _

_ **Fuck** _

_I know you liked it a little too much_

_ **Please** _

_ **Next time** _

_You want me to fuck you again like that, baby?_

_ **Yes daddy ** _

Brock can already feel how close he is and he has to bite his lip, keep himself on the edge, because the nickname is about to send him over it. Jose brings it out from time to time and Brock likes it more than he wants to admit, a fact that Jose knows well. 

_I’ll keep your hips down against the counter, get you so close that you almost come _

_Pull back because you’re not begging enough_

_Get you so close_

_ **Please please please** _

_I’ll wait till your voice is all raw from begging ‘cause you want it so bad_

_Then fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk for a week_

_ **Fuck daddy** _

_All the neighbours will know what I’m doing to you ‘cause you can never stay quiet, can you_

_Good_

_Let them know _

Brock’s grip on his pen is shaky as he comes all over his own stomach, letting out a breathless moan as he strokes himself through it with his other hand because he’s spent and fuck, they’ve never done it like _this_ before. 

Jose takes a full two minutes before he replies, and Brock knows it’s because he just came, too. 

_ **Fuck** _

_ **Jesus christ** _

_ **God I miss your ass** _

_My ass, huh?_

_ **You know what I mean bitch ** _

* * *

Brock’s just done one of the best lip-syncs in Drag Race herstory and his pink sequin outfit is too tight, way too tight. The layers and layers of tights and fabric and padding are restricting, stopping him from being able to breathe, from filling up his lungs the way he so desperately needs to. 

It’s different from the way he’d been out of breath during the lip-sync, where the exertion as he put everything he had into his performance made his heart beat faster and faster and faster, his lungs working overtime. Now there’s no reason for them to continue like this, not when the cameras have stopped filming, not when they’re supposed to be getting out of drag so they can head back to the hotel. 

But Brock cant focus on getting out of drag. It’s too much, too much of a task to apply his brain towards, especially when the most he’s able to do right now is lean against a wall, trying to focus his vision on the ground in front of him, looking at the patterns on the floor tiles. 

He feels fingers intertwine with his, looking up and there’s Jose already in his boy clothes, his eyes soft and kind and worried. Brock doesn’t want to make him worry, because it doesn’t matter, not really, he’s survived the lip-sync and he’s fine, he should be. 

“I’m fine.” Brock musters up a smile on his face, one to reassure Jose though Jose doesn’t seem to buy it, his thumb running in soft circles over Brock’s palm. 

“It’s okay if you’re not, y’know.” Jose’s voice is soft and Brock doesn’t hear it like this often, though when he does it’s almost always directed towards him. A part of him likes it, that this small part of Jose is just for him to hear. 

“It doesn’t matter. I survived that lip sync, I’ll live another episode.” It’s true, he did. He’s made it through and yes, he’s relieved, but he’s also exhausted all of his reserves. It feels like the day has been a battle, one that’s left him worse for wear. 

But he doesn’t want Jose to worry. 

Jose helps him get out of drag just like he did the first night that they’d met in person, while the rest of the girls are fooling around in other areas of the work room, barely paying attention to the two of them. He’s gentle, pulling off Brock’s wig cap and lashes and layers and layers of tights and padding on his body. He pushes Brock to sit down on a chair in front of the mirror, leaning against the counter as he wipes Brock’s face clean of foundation and contour and powder. 

Jose presses a kiss to Brock’s lips when he’s done, and Brock feels lighter, less constricted, though his heart is aching for Jose in a way that’s going to bowl him over when he thinks about it too much.

For someone so outgoing and vocal and loud, Jose knows how to calm him down in the way he needs it the most. Without too many words, without overt reassurances or distraction tactics. Just being there, both in gentle touches and deep pressure and helping Brock get through actions that seem insurmountable, one step at a time without even asking.

Brock’s not sure if anyone else has ever done this for him before. Then again, there’s never been anyone else like Jose in his life, nor will there ever be. Brock knows that for certain. 

* * *

Brock is lip-syncing against his soulmate and sure, the song’s at the bridge, but he hasn’t quite processed it yet. His brain is foggy but he’s going to focus, damn it, he’s going to perform the hell out of this song. 

Even if looking over at Jose makes his heart skip a beat for just a second, makes him almost trip over his own heels. 

The song ends and Brock’s breathing in gasps, because of course, of course they were meant to lip-sync against each other, of course they were. Brock had told Jose, he really did, backstage in Untucked because production would have never let go of the chance to have the star crossed lovers face off against each other in the final moments. Not with such a juicy storyline.

The best part is that the producers don’t even know the half of it. It gives Brock a strange sense of satisfaction, that not everything belongs to the producers to manipulate between him and Jose. They don’t deserve the chance to be able to do so. 

Brock’s name is called to stay and it doesn’t give him the relief that he so desperately wants, because they both deserve to stay and Jose can’t leave and why, _why_ was there already a double save earlier in the season? 

He grabs Jose’s face and kisses him hard - who cares that they’re in drag, that they have lipstick on, that they’re being filmed, that this is the epic, thrilling conclusion to a love story that the producers want to craft to satisfy an adoring public? It doesn’t matter, because there’s so much that Brock wants to say _(__I’m sorry, please don’t hate me, please wait for me, please don’t leave)_ that he can’t. Not right now, not in front of everyone. 

Jose’s never been in his hotel room for filming, but it still feels a little empty when Brock returns to it that evening. His bed a little too big, the four walls surrounding him a little too quiet.

_ **Already home** _

_ **Goddamn ** _

_ **Living in LA is convenint** _

_ **Conveenent ** _

_ **Convenient as hell ** _

_Come back_

_I miss you _

Brock’s not a clingy sort of person by any means, but he can’t stop his heart’s tug for Jose no matter how hard he tries. 

_ **Miss you so fucking much** _

_ **Hurry and finish up filming so you can come here and hang out with me and Riley** _

_ **Imma go grocery shopping and get snacks** _

_ **What do you want ** _

The words make Brock laugh despite himself, because the domesticity flows so naturally between them, as if they’re just two regular people coming home from work.

_Get those salt and vinegar chips you had when I came to visit in February _

_ **You still remember snacks from February? ** _

_They were good!!_

_They don’t have them in Nashville_

_ **That makes you sound like a country bumpkin** _

_Hey, I’m from Toronto_

_ **Yeah yeah, a country bumpkin in a parka** _

The rays of sunlight begin to light up the room as the hours go on, and ink fills up Brock’s skin that he’s going to have a hell of a time washing off. Brock’s barely gotten any sleep because why would he, when talking to Jose is so much more fun? He knows he’s going to be exhausted in the morning, but he can’t bring himself to care. Because Jose’s still here with him, Jose still cares and isn’t mad about the lip-sync and they’re still _them_, complete with all the nonsense and softness that always calms his heart without fail. 

Jose yells at him through big capital letters along his side to _**GO TO SLEEP, BITCH**,_ and Brock wishes that he had Jose in his arms to help him do so.

* * *

Brock’s still in his glittering mirrored jumpsuit from the final finale lip-sync, the cameras just having called _cut_, when his mom taps his shoulder.

“The one in the cheetah print. It’s him, right?” His mom’s eyes are all knowing, too knowing, and Brock should have expected it, really. 

“Who?” Still, Brock’s voice is squeaky. Just the way it always is when his mother brings up things that he doesn’t want to talk about with her, because they make him feel like he’s twelve and vulnerable again.

“That one’s your soulmate. I'm your mother. I can tell.” 

Jose is hugging his own mom and introducing her to Silky and A’keria and laughing his head off, causing a commotion that is making the others around them look over with a smile. 

“Yeah, that’s him.” 

Brock’s been trying, so desperately trying, to let his mother in more. Even when he could see the hesitation in her eyes when he first came out (despite the fact that she had already known), even when he’d told her that he’d started drag and she didn’t understand it in the least.

But the last couple of years, his mother has been trying. Brock can see it. 

And so he will, too.

He grabs Jose’s arm when he passes by, pulling him into the conversation. Jose’s face is bright and happy and his eyes widen in understanding when he sees the woman in front of him.

“Mom, this is Jose.”

Then Jose’s making her light up and laugh with his natural charm and part of Brock almost can’t believe it, that this is his life. That his mother is meeting his soulmate, that his mother doesn’t hate him, that his mother has changed from the way that she used to be. The way she used to make twelve year old Brock want to shrink in on himself, hating himself, wanting to hide everything precious to him.

Brock wishes that he could go back in time to that version of himself, hold his hand, pull him into a hug. Tell him that everything will be alright, that he’ll find Jose in real life, that his mother will be okay with it and that he’s going to feel like he has a family again. It’ll look different from the one he has now, but it’ll be better. Full of more love.

Brock remembers himself at twelve, when the marker in his pocket felt like a secret he had to hide rather than one he could freely talk about. He’d had no idea what would be coming for him in the future. 

Seeing Jose and his mother get along, laugh together as his mom squeezes Jose’s hand, is a sight that Brock is going to commit to memory.

* * *

Brock has an arm around Jose while they wait for production to finish up last-minute adjustments to the reunion set, and he’s antsy. 

“Do you think we should?”

“You’ve asked me like fifty times in the last minute, and I still don’t know.”

Brock fidgets. “Sorry.” 

Jose turns around in his grasp. “Don’t stress, okay? We’ll know what to say once we’re up there and they ask us. We can decide if we wanna say it in the moment.”

Him and Jose still haven’t decided whether they’re going to tell everyone about being soulmates. Nina knows, naturally, having seen drawings on Brock’s skin since before they filmed Drag Race. Silky and A’keria know, which made them approve of Brock a lot quicker. 

But everyone else?

The rest of the cast doesn’t. Production doesn’t. Hell, Ru doesn’t. 

They’d managed to get through the entire season by meticulously keeping their bodies ink free before having to wear revealing outfits, being careful about where they wrote and drew. 

But at the same time, the game is over. The season is done. They’ve already filmed the finale, and Brock has an idea of where it’s going to go, anyway.

He has nothing to lose. They have nothing to lose. Besides, he wants to scream it from the rooftops, Jose is his soulmate, J_ose is his soulmate. _

Brock’s made up his mind as soon as the cameras start rolling, but Jose is the one who lets it slip. 

“So, how did this all get started?” Ru is looking between the two of them, and A’keria and Silky are smirking, and Jose whips out a marker from who knows where, a grin on his face.

“Contrary to what y’all thinking, it didn’t start on season eleven. Watch this.” Jose pauses, looking at Brock like he’s almost asking permission, and Brock nods, because why not?

The gasps from Ru and the rest of the girls and the cameramen when Jose draws a star on his hand that shows up on Brock’s makes it worth it. 

It’s the first time that Brock’s ever seen Ru speechless, the cue cards in his hands rendered useless, the questions that he’d been planning to ask no longer relevant. 

“You’re-you’re soulmates?” Ru’s looking back to the producers behind the cameras, almost asking if they knew, if this was planned.

But the producers shrug back, and it’s more satisfying than Brock wants to admit.

They’ve done it on their own terms, the way it should be.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids.” It feels strange to Brock, being able to talk about it, but the rest of the cast is quiet, attentive. Listening. “We didn’t meet in person until we were in our twenties, but Vanjie was worth the wait.” 

The cast _awws_ and even Ru looks a little bit less shell shocked. Jose, for his part, is preening, his face lit up in happiness, and Brock’s never seen anyone more beautiful. 

“Some could call that an unfair advantage, you know,” Ru points between the two of them, “being able to talk to each other whenever you wanted to.”

Jose shrugs. “Hey, we were never on the same teams, what would we be using spy tactics for? Ain’t no point to that.”

Ru’s opening and closing his mouth, trying to figure out something else to say, when Scarlet pipes up from behind them in a dreamy voice. “That’s so romantic. You’re both living a fairytale.” 

Brock snorts. Regardless of what others say, he’s glad it’s out in the open. 

Sure, Brock’s a private person. But if the public is hanging on to every last detail of their relationship, he’s happy he gets to share his favourite part about it. 

* * *

Brock is in a random town in Arizona for a gig and he’s _tired_. 

He knows that he has to capitalize on his first year after being on Drag Race, make all the coins he can before everything dries up. But being consistently on the road is wearing him down, the constant new faces and the same questions being asked over and over again before he performs the same numbers, because he’s too damn exhausted to learn anything else. 

He makes small talk with the local queens, plasters a smile on his face because he remembers being in that position, and that it pays to be nice. But it’s draining, and he wishes he could be home instead, the cats and Jose by his side.

He doesn’t even know where home is anymore. Not Nashville, not really. Not Toronto, not anymore. 

But the word _home_ makes him think of Jose’s laugh and Jose snuggling into his side and Jose making him a cup of tea when he’s too antsy. It makes him think of Jose’s grip on him tightening when he’s about to come, swear words that leave Jose’s mouth echoing in his ears. Home is the way that he greets Jose at the airport, or when they step into each others apartments, no longer having to rely only on Sharpies to feel like they’re in the same place.

He’s in an Uber to the airport at 3 a.m. because he has another gig the next day when words appear on his forearm that make him pause.

_ **Move in with me** _

_ **Brock please** _

_ **I miss you** _

The words tug on his heart, crush it into small pieces because Brock misses him too, and wants nothing more than to be with him all the time. He doesn’t know how they survived so long without meeting in person. He’s not sure if he’d ever be able to go that long again. 

The idea comes to him before he’s even pulled his Sharpie out from his bag. 

Sure, he’d been planning to do it properly, plan something nice because he knows Jose likes that sort of thing, but he needs to ask now. Needs to know.

Because really, would there ever be any other option for them?

_I’ll do you one better_

_ **????** _

_Marry me_

Brock’s hand is shaking, because _fuck_, he’s just asked his soulmate to marry him and he hasn’t replied yet and what if Jose isn’t on the same page at all and-

_ **You asshole** _

_ **Of course I will yes** _

_ **But you better get me a proper ring** _

Brock’s laugh comes out half like a sob, and his Uber driver is curiously looking at him in the rearview mirror but he doesn’t care.

_You know I will_

_Had to make sure you wanted to first_

_ **Bitch ** _

_ **Duh** _

_ **Can’t believe it took you so long to ask** _

_You could have easily asked me, y’know_

_ **Nah** _

_ **Knew your ass likes to be the kind to do that shit** _

_More that your ass is the kind that likes being proposed to, let’s be real_

_ **And???** _

Brock laughs because he can fully picture Jose’s grin, his indignation as he writes back. His Uber stops at the departure gate at the small airport and he has to unload his bags, his heart feeling like it’s already flying, because Jose said yes, _Jose said yes_. 

A doodle of a wedding band appears on his finger as he’s going through security, and Brock never wants Jose to ever wash it off of his own hand.

Brock remembers being seventeen, seeing one of his older sisters show up to Thanksgiving dinner with a ring on her finger and her fiance in tow. A part of him had felt his heart flip in his chest, wondering if it would happen for him, when it would happen for him.

If it would be Jose who would have a matching ring on his finger. 

And now, more than ten years later? He’s going to have one. 

* * *

Brock’s in a tux and it’s tugging on him in weird places but he’s never been happier in his life.

He looks around the tent in which their wedding reception is taking place. His mother and his sisters and his nieces and nephews are here, their close friends are here, as are countless queens that have become family to him over the past decade or so.

He swears that Farrah tears up while giving her speech, though she’ll never admit it when Brock asks her about it later.

Jose is glowing as he sits with his own mom, her arm around him and they both look so happy. He sees Jose’s family that’s he’s gotten to know by name, and he wishes that he’d gotten to meet Jose’s abuela, the one that he’d heard about when they were kids. 

There’s people missing from the wedding, people that both him and Jose desperately wanted to have there, but Brock supposes that that’s life.

He has a real wedding band on his finger now, and he never wants to take it off. A piece of him that’s also a piece of Jose, a commitment.

When Brock was younger, he’d wondered how soulmates worked. How they’d be together forever. Then he’d seen his own parents fall apart, seen how his mom became so much happier without his father. The way she’d done better without hers.

Brock gets it now. Soulmates aren’t the be all, end all. Soulmates still require effort, solving problems together, weathering through storms that threaten to ruin everything only to come out the other side a lot more stronger. 

They’re going to have to try to work on it. They’re still going to tour and be away from each other, the way they’ve been for the last couple years, but it’s okay, it is. Because it’s not forever.

They’re capitalizing on their careers and getting their fill now and experiencing everything now while still getting to share it with each other through stories written along their skin. 

He gets to keep sharing things with Jose, forever, if he wants to. His husband.

They’re going to be the soulmates that the stories talk about, the ones that work out, in the end. Brock knows it.

Brock takes another sip of his wine when a niece and nephew run up to him, the tiny tux and flower girl dress making him melt. 

His niece crosses her arms. “Liam _said_\- ”

“-I didn’t say, Emma said it-”

“-that you and Uncle Jose can write to each other. I think they’re lying.” His niece raises an eyebrow, waiting for an answer, and Brock wonders whether he was ever that rambunctious at six years old.

Nonetheless, he pulls out a Sharpie from his pocket, turns his hand over. “Watch this.”

He draws a smiley face, their customary smiley face, and has to hold a laugh back at the sight of his niece and nephew whipping their head over to look at Jose, to peek at his hand. They leave him, running over to where Jose’s standing and interrupting his conversation with his cousins to turn his hand over.

“Emma was _right_!”

“No way!”

Jose’s holding back a laugh at their astonishment and he looks over at Brock, the raised eyebrow and the soft smile on his face enough to make Brock’s heart all warm.

His niece and nephew run back, grabbing Brock’s arm. 

“Write more, write more.” His nephew is practically spinning around. 

His niece’s brow is furrowed. “But _how_?” 

“Soulmates.” Brock nudges her shoulder. “Hey, maybe you’ll have one, too.” 

His niece wrinkles her nose. “I hope it’s not a boy like yours.” 

When she comes to him and Jose a couple years later with writing on her arms and a million questions to go with it, they don’t have all of the answers to give to her. Hell, he and Jose still don’t even have all the answers for themselves, but there’s one piece of advice that Brock says to her. 

“Start with your name,” Brock hands her a Sharpie from the kitchen table, like the many that are scattered around their shared apartment, and laughs as she uncaps the marker enthusiastically with her teeth. “And everything will fall into place.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me at @plastiquetiaras on tumblr!


End file.
